


Wouldn't Want to Live There

by Dustbunny3



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Bickering, Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-22
Updated: 2017-02-22
Packaged: 2018-09-26 06:10:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9870929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dustbunny3/pseuds/Dustbunny3
Summary: Lug is less than amused by their latest destination, but Anode talks her around as is her wont.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I really wasn't sure about doing another Anolug, given my concerns about the theory making its rounds in fandom. But then I fell back on my "do it while canon's good for it" feelings and went ahead.

“Wait,” says Lug, looking up either from a lost game or a dead datapad, Anode isn’t sure what that sound was, “we’re going _where_?”

Oh, it is so much easier to talk to her sometimes if she isn’t paying attention. Like now, as an example. Still, she asked a direct question and Anode owes her a direct answer. Contriving to look affronted to have not had Lug’s full attention, she recites by memory from the guidebook, “It’s the third planet from–”

“You said it’s called _what_?” Lug interrupts, setting aside her– yep, definitely burnt out– datapad and standing from her chair to her full height. Which isn’t much at all, but her incredulity seems to tower over Anode.

“Ahem. Yes, well,” Anode says, fiddling with the controls in what is not at all an attempt to avoid eye contact. Their so-called ship needs constant surveillance, after all. “The local name for it is actually–”

“What’s _our_ name for it, Anode?” Lug stalks right up to the pilot’s chair and yanks it around by the arm so that she can stare dead right up into Anode’s face. Grabbing each arm in a hand, she boxes Anode in and crowds close. She has the look of someone who knows full well that Anode needs constant surveillance– that is to say, someone who knows better than to stop, in a fit of pique, paying attention to Anode.

If Lug doesn’t approve of where they’re going, Anode decides, it really is her own fault. Armed with this self-righteousness, Anode leans back, shrugs and says, “Killtopia.”

“Killtopia,” Lug repeats. “We’re going to hunt for treasure on _Killtopia_.”

“Y'know,” Anode chides, “you can make any planet sound bad if you say it in that tone of voice.”

Lug stares at her, attention unwavering as it should’ve been earlier if she wanted a say in their travel plans. Her jaw works, like she’s considering the flavor of her words before leaning up on tiptoe and spitting them directly in Anode’s face. “Turn. Around.”

“We’ve already got clearance to park,” Anode tells her patiently. “Besides,” she adds when Lug looks fit to argue, “you can’t judge a planet by its name. Remember the fun time we thought we were going to have on Giggleopolis?”

Both of them shudder, optics dimming as their thoughts turn inward toward the memories, then quickly lighting up again as they flee those same memories. Lug shakes herself like a turbofox after a bath and when she shifts closer, it doesn’t seem to be an attempt to smother Anode with her disapproval. Which isn’t to say that she’s let go of said disapproval, of course.

“I shouldn’t judge a planet by a name we assigned it?” she demands.

“All I’m saying is we don’t know anything about whoever assigned it that name,” Anode says, waving a hand to disperse the negativity. “We don’t know what sort of agenda they may’ve had or even what their sense of humor was.”

Lug opens her mouth only to close it on a screechy groan, letting go of the chair to scrub both hands over her face. Rather than take the opportunity to escape, Anode leans over her, pulling her into an embrace and nuzzling at her audial.

“Hey,” she says, pulling back a short ways. Lug lowers her hands just enough to look balefully into Anode’s eyes and Anode tips her forehead against Lug’s, holding the contact. “You know I wouldn’t willfully lead you into danger, right?”

That gets Lug to drop her hands the rest of the way so that she faces Anode with the full force of her exasperation, but there’s a fondness there too. There’s a fondness in the way her hands settle on Anode’s knees, the way her palms massage the joints.

“I don’t know how I put up with you,” she says at last, backing out of the hug and plopping into her own chair, which tilts even with her unsubstantial weight. She takes up her datapad again, pulling out a repair kit from her chest compartment even though they both know the thing has been on borrowed time since she got it.

“A mystery for another day,” Anode declares, wings fluttering. She turns again to the navigational controls, which, sure enough, have set them off course while her attention’s wandered. They really need to scrounge up the money for repairs.

“Just out of curiosity,” Lug pipes up as she pries the back off her datapad and winces away from a billow of smoke, “what _is_ the local name for the planet?”

“Oh, I never would’ve been able to pronounce it,” Anode says, whacking the console so that they’ll glide into place instead of crashing. “But it translates– roughly, mind you– and only in the dominant language– to, well. Killtopia.”

A pause, then Lug looks across at her with an air of resigned despair, sighing so hard that her chair tips to the other side and squeaks protests. Shaking her head, she says, “You’re so lucky I love you.”

“Yeah,” Anode admits, grinning in return. She can’t keep her wings from fluttering again. “I know.”

Lug throws the datapad at her.


End file.
